


slaves to any semblance

by Flowerparrish



Series: sweeter than heaven (hotter than hell) [4]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Dom Clint Barton, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Sub Bucky Barnes, Switch Bucky Barnes, Uniform Kink, Voyeurism, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 17:11:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21122333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/pseuds/Flowerparrish
Summary: Most days, Bucky doesn’t understand how his life can be this good. It’s not even always an atonement thing—creeping thoughts that he doesn’t deserve this much happiness—but rather just a sheer: how? How can he have two people to love, who love him, and just… be this happy?Of course, there’s moments when it feels more like a curse than a blessing.Among them is gearing up for a battle, trying to listen to Steve on the Quinjet talking about the threat, and being hopelessly distracted by Clint.Just,everythingabout the man in his Hawkeye gear.





	slaves to any semblance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hawksonfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawksonfire/gifts).

Most days, Bucky doesn’t understand how his life can be _this good. _It’s not even always an atonement thing—creeping thoughts that he doesn’t deserve this much happiness—but rather just a sheer: how? How can he have _two _people to love, who love him, and just… _be _this happy?

Of course, there’s moments when it feels more like a curse than a blessing.

Among them is gearing up for a battle, trying to listen to Steve on the Quinjet talking about the threat, and being hopelessly distracted by Clint.

Just, _everything _about the man in his Hawkeye gear.

Bucky honestly doesn’t know how he handles it. The sexual tension is so strong that he thinks he might combust, and to top it all off, Clint never seems to even _notice. _

Steve notices. He cuts a glance at Bucky when he takes a seat next to Nat to keep going over the mission, eyes knowing and commiserative all at once.

Because this is not a new thing. This is, in fact, a very old thing. As in, Bucky’s been drooling over Clint as Hawkeye since approximately his first mission out with the Avengers, when he couldn’t even work himself up to being _nervous _because instead he was being sexually reawakened by Clint’s _arms. _

It’s unfair.

But the Quinjet descends, and Bucky pushes all of that away, forcing himself to focus, and it’s _fine. _

**

Bucky somehow gets through the mission without daydreaming about Clint pinning him to any hard surface and fucking him within an inch of his life.

Mostly because Steve helps by being a dumbass and nearly getting himself doused in corrosive alien spit a bunch, and Bucky has to focus on watching his back.

He deserves a fucking reward for this.

**

Bucky finds it a little weird when Steve follows Clint into one of the elevators back at the Tower. Like, yeah, none of them is seriously injured and it’s a given that they’re going to go have some awesome, hot, mind-blowing sex until they’re all worn out and sated—but usually Clint goes off on his own first and joins Steve and Bucky at their place once he’s showered and changed.

Bucky shrugs it off and takes his own shower, not bothering to dress himself in more than loose boxers when he’s done, lounging on the sheets of their bed with damp skin that’s slightly chilled in the cool air of the bedroom.

Steve turns up and leans in the doorway, eyeing Bucky where he’s spread out. He doesn’t say anything, just smirks slightly and then peels himself free of his own suit and goes to shower.

“What’d you talk to Clint about?” Bucky calls after him, giving in to curiosity.

“You’ll see,” Steve calls back.

Bucky huffs and goes back to daydreaming about Clint and his uniform.

He daydreams so hard that when he looks up and sees Clint, in the uniform, in the doorway, he doesn’t think it’s real.

But then Clint grins, and it’s so at odds with Bucky’s fantasies—so much better—that he knows it _is _real. “Hi,” Clint says. His voice is soft, a little more uncertain than Bucky’s used to in a bedroom context.

Bucky’s frozen for a moment, trying to decide what to do. Steve’s still in the shower, and he’ll give Bucky hell for starting without him if Bucky does anything, but then—Steve set him up.

_Steve set him up. _

So, y’know, fuck Steve, in both senses of the word. “Please let me kiss you,” Bucky demands. “Just—_Jesus, _Clint.”

Clint grins, and his confidence shines through. “Mm, okay,” he agrees. “C’mere.”

Bucky puts every once of speed he has into getting within touching distance of Clint _at once. _Clint wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist, reels him in, and Bucky whimpers at the feel of leather and bulletproof material against his bare skin. “Fuck,” he says, and melts into Clint more. Bucky can feel Clint’s bracer against his back, and then his brain goes white with need when Clint reaches his other hand between them and wraps partially gloved fingers around Bucky’s dick.

“You like this,” Clint marvels.

Bucky nods. There’s gotta be words, but he doesn’t know any right now.

Clint leans in to kiss Bucky, his cheek, his jaw, the hollow of his throat. Bucky whines and his hips buck into Clint’s hand.

“I got you,” Clint promises. “I got you.” He kisses Bucky, deep and steady against Bucky’s frantic neediness until Bucky slows to match him.

Bucky can’t breathe, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t need to breathe. His body belies that surety when Clint pulls away and Bucky’s immediately gasping in air.

Clint doesn’t go far, stays close enough to tug at Bucky’s bottom lip with his teeth. “What do you want?”

God, _everything, _does Clint even know—even now—what he’s _doing _to Bucky? “You, all of you,” Bucky says. “I need—” He cuts off. He doesn’t know what he needs.

But the best part of being with Clint is that he doesn’t need to know. Clint will help him figure out what he wants, and then he’ll give it to him, just like that.

And he does. He asks, “Do you want to suck me off? Do you want me to fuck you?”

Bucky very badly wants both of those things. But he remembers his earlier fantasy, and he manages to find enough words to say, “Fuck me against a wall.”

Clint’s breath catches, and when he rocks his hips against Bucky, there’s a hardness that’s more than just Clint’s suit between them. “Shit, okay, I can do that,” he agrees.

Bucky lets Clint back him up against a wall, kissing him all the way, before Clint pushes away from his body. Bucky whines at the loss of contact, and Clint ducks back in to kiss him again. “I’ll be right back,” he promises.

Bucky can feel the cold of the wall against his heated skin as he waits, and when he returns moments later—with lube, thank fuck—Bucky pulls him close, reveling in the contrast of Clint’s warmth against his front and the cool against his back.

Clint smirks at him like he _knows—_because somehow he always does, or at least seems to—and kisses him. “Color?”

“Green,” Bucky tells him instantly. “Fuck me, Clint.”

Clint’s smile grows impossibly wider. “If you insist.”

Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes but goes easily when Clint’s hands turn him around so his front is pressed against the wall instead. It’s cold and unyielding and Bucky does not rock his hips against it for friction, but he kind of wants to.

Clint’s hands trail across the hem of his boxers, sliding along his chilled skin, and Bucky arches back into them.

Clint retaliates by leaning into Bucky until his weight has him pinned; Bucky shivers. “Clint,” he begs, and it comes out a whine.

Clint laughs softly. “Okay.”

Clint doesn’t push Bucky’s boxers down his hips, just slips a hand inside of them. The feel of slick fingers at Bucky’s hole makes him bite his lip and try to push back into them, but he’s held firmly in place by Clint.

It’s made that much better by the feeling of the uniform against Bucky’s bare skin; he can’t forget what Clint looks like, can’t help but picture what they look like _together _right now. He moans and gives in to his earlier urge, rolling his hips forward to try to get friction from the wall. It gives him almost nothing, but almost nothing is still _something, _and he’s desperate enough that it’s so, so good.

“Look at you,” Clint says. “So needy.” Bucky would protest, but 1) he is, and 2) when Clint says it, it’s always a compliment. So Bucky just nods and struggles to either push back into Clint’s hand or forward into the wall, making no headway with either and hopelessly turned on even as he’s left frustrated.

“Did you think about this?” Clint asks. His voice is hot, rough, a contrast to his gentle hands and the steady weight of his body holding Bucky effortlessly in place. “Did you imagine me fucking you out there when we were supposed to be fighting?” Bucky can’t help but nod.

It’s a relief when Clint pushes his first finger in, slow and gentle. “How did you imagine it?” Clint asks. “Slow and gentle, like this?”

What are words? Bucky sure doesn’t know. He shakes his head, though, and feels Clint’s lips, against his neck, quirk up into a smile. “No? How, then?”

“Fuck,” he sighs, because Clint’s pushing in a second finger now, and the burn feels _too _good. “Harder,” he begs.

Clint obliges (in part), pushing harder and deeper but no quicker. “Like this?”

“Fuck, Clint,” Bucky groans. “Faster. Fuck me.”

Clint kisses his neck, a gentle kiss in contrast with the way his fingers are fucking Bucky in earnest now. “Oh, so that’s what you want,” he says. “I can do that.”

Now that Bucky’s found words, he apparently can’t _un_find them. “Wanna feel it after,” he says, close to babbling. A third finger slips in, and he moans again. “Fuck, just like that, wanna feel it for hours.”

Clint starts to suck a mark onto the side of his neck and Bucky feels his cock twitch.

Bucky keeps saying words—praise, curses, filthy desires—but he loses the ability to keep track of what they are.

He knows when Clint’s fingers slip free and he whines in protest, but then he feels Clint’s cock against him and, _oh, right, yes, that. _

Clint’s always bigger than he expects, the stretch of Bucky’s body opening around him overwhelming. But there’s also no better feeling than when Clint bottoms out and Bucky’s _filled. _Now, with Clint draped over him, surrounding him and inside him at the same time, Bucky feels utterly possessed by him—he has, he’s pretty sure, never felt better in his life.

He loses himself in the feeling of Clint fucking him just like he wants, hard and fast, and it could be minutes or hours that pass before he’s hit with an orgasm he didn’t see coming. It tears through him, overwhelming him with pleasure that whites out everything else.

He doesn’t black out, but he does lose a couple of seconds. When he comes back to himself somewhat, Clint has paused but is still undeniably hard in Bucky’s ass. Bucky wiggles against him, trying to roll back, and hears Clint huff softly. “You good?” Clint asks.

“Mmhmm,” Bucky agrees wordlessly. Words are hard, fuck. “C’mon,” he finally gets out. “Want you to come in me.”

Clint groans and rolls his hips at that, the movement pushing Bucky further against the wall. He sighs happily. “C’mon,” he says again, and Clint grips his hips and fucks into him a _little _more gently than before, but not by much.

Bucky drifts happily, pleasure sparking through him with every thrust in and drag out of Clint’s cock, and when Clint comes, Bucky’s already completely relaxed, a boneless bundle of sensitive but happy nerve endings and not much else.

Clint breathes through his orgasm and then pushes himself away from Bucky gently, holding on to him still to help support his weight. “You good?” he asks again.

Bucky grins at him, still a little floaty and in no hurry to get rid of the feeling. “Yep,” he agrees happily. “That was hot.”

Clint grins and cuts a glance to the side, toward the en-suite. Bucky looks over and, oh, there’s Steve. He’s standing in the doorway, towel around his waist, skin glistening from his recent shower. He looks like a golden Adonis, unreal.

He also looks horny as hell, and the dick tenting out the towel only serves to prove that. “Enjoy the show?” Clint asks.

“Yes,” Steve agrees easily.

“Thanks for the tip,” Clint adds.

Bucky blushes and can tell it goes past his cheeks, down his neck and chest. He _knew _Steve had told, but having it confirmed just makes it that much—what, better? Worse?

Steve smirks at him like he knows exactly what Bucky’s thinking, and, shit, how did Bucky go and fall in love with two blond disasters who can read him like a book?

“Wait till you get your turn,” he tells Steve.

Clint glances between them, gaze sharpening in interest. “Oh yeah?”

Bucky nods. “It’s not just me who can’t keep my eyes off you in the field.”

Clint’s grin turns predatory. “This is gonna be fun,” he says decisively.

“Mm, my turn to watch,” Bucky agrees. His knees more or less support his weight now, so he kicks off the boxers that are now tangled around his ankles and crosses to the bed and resumes his earlier position. “Think you can give me a good show?”

“Oh, baby, you have no idea,” Clint tells him.


End file.
